


Man is the Cruelest Animal

by midnight5776



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Tom Riddle, F/M, Murderer au, bonnie and clyde - Freeform, honestly idk what happened here I hope you all like it, library au gone wrong, tomione - Freeform, villain AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 17:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight5776/pseuds/midnight5776
Summary: "And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee" --Nietzsche





	Man is the Cruelest Animal

**Author's Note:**

> It's not too gorey or anything. I hope y'all like it!

She realized it was him, the man she was searching for. She hadn’t expected it would be so easy to find a matching soul, nor did she expect him to be so attractive.

She had waited a long time for it to turn out like this: hands clammy, a head of sweat slowly rolling down her left temple, and warm, crimson liquid splattered on her dark skin.

No, she hadn’t imagined it would go like this, but then, who expects to like the taste of thick, salty iron.

\--

Hermione met Tom Riddle on a Monday. He was tall and handsome, a deadly combination. His hair was combed so precisely to the side that she doubt a single hair was misplaced. His jaw was as sharp as a knife and well defined. She stood and stared into the abyss his eyes held.

Then, he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Miss?”

She shook her head to refocus her attention on her job. “Oh, I’m sorry. What may I help you with?” she asked in a polite, practiced tone.

“I’m here to pick up a copy of _Beyond Good and Evil_. It should be on reserve under Riddle.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and gave him a small smile before she turned to retrieve the book. When she set it on the counter and scanned his well-worn library card, she asked, “Are you a Nietzche fan or is this a first time read for you?”

“Old favorite,” Tom responded with a bored look. He was tired of philosophy students in this college town assuming they were intelligent just because they had read a handful of exerts from a philosopher once.

“Ah,” was all she responded with.

\--

She…liked it. She liked the feel of warm blood fresh out of a body. She liked how her fingers slid over it, smearing it across her inner arm.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Tom asked quickly, his lips by her ear. He watched from over her shoulder as she looked down at their victim—her victim—bloodied and crying.

“More than I imagined,” she murmured before lunging.

\--

_“Yet another body has been found in Essex, mutilated. Authorities are warning the public about staying out too late--”_

“What happens when we mess up?” Hermione asked with her head resting on Tom’s lap.

“We run, sweetheart. We run fast and far. They’ll never catch us.”

\--

_“There is report of a second missing woman coming from the police department—“_

“Quite sad, isn’t it?” Tom asked over the quiet news caster reporting on the television behind the counter. “Still so young and with so much life left to live.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Hermione remarked dismissively. She didn’t care about women going missing. Since Tom’s third visit, she learned that small talk with the man ten years her elder was always off. Much too practiced and charming for her taste.

“Make sure to be safe wandering about the city. Police say the culprit is after young women.”

“I’m not afraid of a man who gets off on taking power instead of earning it.” She finally looked up as she handed his most recent checked out book to him. Her eyes locked onto his.

“Those sound like foolish words of a woman too prideful to have reasonable fear.” He quirked an eyebrow at her and held her gaze. Their interactions were always short, but tense.

Hermione released the book and returned to typing away on the outdated computer the county had supplied them with. “Remember to bring back the book in the same condition you checked it out in. The last one had a speck of blood on it,” she stated knowingly.

She didn’t care to look up to see his white-knuckled grip on _Dante’s Inferno_.

\--

_“After the last body was found two weeks ago, it appears the trail has gone cold on the case of—“_

They moved to the continent. They took a boat that didn’t ask questions and made new identities in France. Tom wanted to change his name to something ridiculous.

“No,” Hermione stated firmly. “I refuse to call you Voldemort for the extent of our stay. Christ, why must you be so dramatic?”

“Dramatic? Last week you made that blonde woman beg for her life for half an hour before you put her out of her misery,” he reminded her with a smirk. She only huffed.

\--

She was responsible for closing the library late Thursday night. Her back hit the back wall outside the library on her way to take out the trash. A hand was wrapped tightly around her throat and the back of her head ached from the force it had bounced off the wall with.

“Listen here you little—“

“I was wondering when you’d show, Tom.”

\--

They never stayed in one place for long. The news hadn’t shown signs of Interpol connecting the international murders yet, but they weren’t willing to risk the chance.

“Honey,” Hermione had her feet on the dashboard of the red convertible they had rented two countries back. The top was down and she let her wild curls free—Tom loved it when she did that. “We’ve been driving for hours,” she drew out the last word for emphasis. “Please, can we go have some fun soon?”

He rested his hand on her thigh, but didn’t look away from the road. His signature smirk found its way onto his lips. “Of course, my love. I’d do anything for you.”

“Would you kill for me?” she teased lightheartedly.

“I can right now if you’d like?” he offered as they pulled into an isolated gas station.

\--

“How did you know?” he demanded as they sat in a late-night diner. He had refused to order, not finding this to be a subject he desired to eat over, but she had ordered a tall stack of pancakes and set in.

“It was really just a lucky guess,” she admitted. “I mean, you act perfectly normal to the point that you seem a tiny bit…off. Plus, there was the blood in that book and the second time you came in you had scratch marks on your wrist. From the lack of hair on your coats, it was unlikely you had a pet. Between all that and your reaction when I guessed, it was quite easy.”

“Are you going to the police?” he asked calmly. His tone would have never lead the few working staff at the diner to believe they were discussing murder over late-night breakfast. He tapped his fingers on the stained table top, his patience wearing thin.

“Of course not, Tom,” she chided him. “That wasn’t my plan at all.”

\--

Killing was like a drug; it provided the best high the world had to offer. If it was addicting, they were heavy addicts. As time passed, they got more confident and with that confidence came cockiness. They wanted more blood, longer torture, and louder screams. It was getting harder and harder to satisfy their cravings.

\--

They had really fucked up this time.

“They had cameras! How did we not notice the cameras?” Hermione hissed as she shoved the last of their few belongings into the truck of the black compact car they currently possessed.

“I don’t know!” he growled. “I don’t know, Hermione. Just get in the car now!” he slammed his door and she claimed her seat at his side. He pealed out of the parking lot and only slowed down once they were on a freeway.

“Let’s go to India,” Hermione suggested frantically. “We could drive straight there and take turns driving—“

“You hate driving,” he pointed out roughly.

“I’m aware of that Tom, but do you have any better ideas?” she demanded. He shook his head, his perfect hair in disarray.

“We need to ditch the car and find a new one once we cross the country line. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he shouted angrily. “What if they have our photos at the border?”

“I don’t know, Tom.” She yanked her wild hair back into a sloppy ponytail and fought back hot tears. “What are we going to do? What if we can’t keep running?” Her tone was still angry, but there was less power behind it.

“We have to keep running. That’s always been the plan. We can do this, Hermione. We just have to keep running.”

\--

She wasn’t sure when she fell in love with Tom. She had always had thoughts of blood and pain in her mind, that she could handle. Those thoughts made sense to her. Loving someone, though, that did not.

The sun shone on his lightly tanned skin, highlighting his cheekbones. Hermione relaxed back into the passenger seat of their convertible, head turned to face her partner in crime. She had known from the start that he was handsome—it was part of his disguise. She couldn’t remember when she started thinking those handsome looks were attractive. She couldn’t remember when she started looking forward to his smiles or gazing into the abyss that his eyes held.

Murder made sense, but this—this did not.

\--

“Hermione we have to go!” he shouted. He grabbed a partially packed bag and her hand before running out of the dirty hotel room. They flew into the car and he threw the bag into the back seat. The car turned over once, twice, and started on the third time. He could hear his pulse in his ears when he laid the gas pedal down to the floor and they sped off right before the police lights were turned on down the street.

\--

“I think it’s time we moved,” Hermione stated firmly. “I love Britain and all, but let’s leave. Run away with me, Tom.” He had a flair for dramatics and she enjoyed playing into his interest.

“Alright,” he chuckled. “Where will we be running off to, my love?”

“France, I think,” she said as she twirled once in his living room. “I went one summer with my parents when I was a little girl.”

“Then France it is.” He stood and took her hand. He kissed it and raised his eyebrows. “Shall we pack, my queen?”

\--

“Tom,” Hermione whispered as sirens roared behind them. “What are we going to do?”

“Run,” he stated firmly. He looked over at her and, even in the dark, she could see what that abyss held for her.

“Then let’s run,” she whispered. She reached her hand out toward him and he interlaced his fingers with hers.

_And into the abyss they rode._


End file.
